


All That Might Be

by orphan_account



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Gen, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-28
Updated: 2020-04-28
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:49:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23897773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: One Summerday across three cities.
Kudos: 2





	All That Might Be

**Author's Note:**

> This is set in 9:20 Dragon, a week after [Chapter Five](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23275522/chapters/57415324) of _Where Our Hearts Hunger_ , although you don't have to read that to understand what's happening here.

Nathaniel had been hiding out in the castle’s trophy room for at least an hour. He knew that drinks with Fergus had been called off. No word had been sent, but the man was delayed, and in all the chaos, he’d probably just forgotten. It didn’t matter. Even though Nathaniel had nothing else to occupy him, he couldn’t bring himself to go back out there.

It was supposed to be Summerday with the Couslands. A rare outing for the entire Howe family to Highever. Even his mother had come, although his parents had viciously torn into each other first thing in the morning, and she’d come out only for the sermon. The teyrn and teyrna were gracious hosts, but everyone had been caught off-guard by the unexpected arrival: Fergus’s wife gave birth only yesterday, several weeks early from what Nathaniel had gathered. And everything else was just forgotten.

Nathaniel suddenly had the peculiar sense that he was being watched just a few seconds before a girlish voice addressed him from the doorway. “What are you doing here, Nathaniel?”

He looked away from the old amulet on the top shelf and found the teyrn’s daughter staring at him. Grecia was all of nine years old, no longer the youngest Cousland. She was still dressed in her Summerday finery with ribbons in her chestnut hair. Her question was purely innocent; even if she weren’t a little girl, her family was so _normal_ that she’d probably never want to escape them.

Nathaniel had time to accept that Fergus had stood him up. They were supposed to meet up in the trophy room and steal away for drinks. He and Fergus were the same age, had grown up together, but they hadn’t seen each other as much over the last year. Fergus was married and—as of yesterday—a new father. Nathaniel had no interest in either of those things. One last drink as a farewell to the way “things used to be,” a phrase Fergus was already using.

Not that Nathaniel was going to admit that to a little girl.

“Everyone is so busy, I thought I’d just stay out of the way,” Nathaniel lied. “Weren’t you playing with Thomas? Is he not with you?”

“Thomas is a jerk,” Grecia said with such venom that there _had_ to be a story behind it. He’d hoped she would lose interest in him quickly and wander off, as his own brother was prone to doing, but she joined him in the trophy room instead. “Which one were you looking at?”

Nathaniel found himself the girl’s sole focus of attention. It was an uncomfortable place to be. He didn’t know the first thing about children. He and Delilah were close enough in age that it hadn’t mattered, and Thomas spent more time with their father than with either of his siblings. “Uh, well, this one up here,” he answered slowly, gesturing to an old amulet on the top shelf. “This must be Teyrn Bryce’s medal for the Battle of White River. My father has one identical to it. But I wouldn’t want to bore you, my lady.”

“I know that battle,” Grecia said. She stood on the tips of her toes and tried to get a good look at the top shelf. He realized she was too short to see it well on her own. “Father has a scar on his arm from it. Do you know what happened? Aldous won’t tell me. He says it’s not proper for a girl my age.”

Nathaniel vaguely recalled that Aldous had been Fergus’s tutor when they were young. “Well, if your tutor doesn’t think it’s appropriate,” he started to say, but when she tore her eyes away from him in disappointment, he immediately had second thoughts. He finished speaking with a mischievous grin. “Then I guess he doesn’t need to know.”

Grecia looked at him, her flash of hope cast under a shadow of doubt. “But all things are known to the Maker. And He shall judge our lies. That’s what the Chant says.”

“We’re not lying,” Nathaniel reassured her, crouching down. “If he asks, we’ll tell him. But do you really think he’s going to ask? When was the last time he asked you about any interesting battles you’ve recently heard about?”

“Never.” Grecia’s features broke into a grin. She looked so much like her father. It was the nose, he decided, and the set of her chin. “Tell me about the battle! How did Father get that scar? Was it the Orlesians?”

“Probably.” Nathaniel had no idea that Teyrn Bryce had scars of any sort. He knew that his father had a pretty nasty one from a chevalier’s spear. “It’s been a while since my history lessons, but let me see what I remember. The Battle of White River happened right after Queen Moira was killed. King Maric was still missing at the time. No one could agree on what to do, so the rebellion split into two armies: one stayed in the south, searching for the missing king, and one went to the north. Our fathers and my uncle went with the northern army…”

Nathaniel wasn’t much of a storyteller, but her enthusiasm made up for it. She hung onto every word as he regaled her with what he could remember. It was actually something he knew a bit about, given that it was one of the few war stories his father ever bothered to share with him. Although Uncle Leonas’s role shrank with each retelling, until even Nathaniel wasn’t entirely sure how much he’d fought.

“They retreated,” Grecia said once he was finished, a little crease forming between her brows, “but they still got medals of valor?”

“The king always rewards those who fight valiantly. And I think they delayed the chevaliers long enough for the southern army to find King Maric,” Nathaniel answered. By the end of his storytelling, his knees ached from crouching, and so he’d plopped down on the floor in an ungentlemanly fashion. She sat with him, her little skirts pooled out with her legs diligently tucked underneath. “But there it is—the Battle of White River.”

“Why did the Orlesians kill Queen Moira?”

“Uh.” Nathaniel’s mind went blank. How could he possibly explain an eighty-year occupation to a nine-year-old girl? “It was…well, she fell to betrayal. She was meeting with people she thought were her allies, and, uh, they weren’t.”

“Was it the Orlesians?”

“Some of them, I think.”

“Arlessa Eliane is Orlesian and _she’s_ nice.”

Nathaniel was careful in disguising his reaction. There were a lot of things he would call his mother, but “nice” was not one of them. “Actually, my mother was born in South Reach,” he said instead. “My grandmother’s Orlesian.” And his grandmother was most certainly _not_ a nice woman. But she didn’t need to know that.

“But she supported the rebellion?”

“She did.”

“The Grey Wardens came from Orlais,” Grecia said suddenly.

Nathaniel was thrown a bit by the turn in conversation. He masked his surprise with a quirk of his brow. “And what do you know about the Grey Wardens, my lady?”

Grecia turned slightly pink. “I read about them in one of the books in the library. They ended the Fourth Blight. I’m going to become one when I’m grown up,” she announced, trying to sound brave, but sounding rather nervous instead. “And don’t tell me I can’t just because I’m a girl. That’s what Aldous said, but he’s wrong.”

“I would never tell you that, my lady.”

“…You weren’t going to?”

“No. My great-uncle Padric joined the Grey Wardens.”

“He did?” Grecia’s blue eyes widened. “What happened?”

Nathaniel _immediately_ regretted volunteering that bit of his family history. “I’m afraid I don’t know very much, my lady. He left to join the Grey Wardens and my family never heard from him again.”

“Oh.” Her shoulders slumped.

“Maybe when you’re a Grey Warden, you can find out and tell me?” Nathaniel offered, and she perked up again at that.

“There you are,” Delilah said as she entered the trophy room with Thomas at her heels. The relief on her face contrasted sharply with the stubborn guilt on his. “Have you two been in here this whole time?”

“We’ve been swapping war stories,” Nathaniel told her. He grinned as they stood and dusted themselves off.

Delilah briefly looked bemused. “Oh. Well. I’m sure they were delightful stories. And appropriate.” She regarded Grecia with a warm smile. “My lady, Thomas has something that he would like to say to you. Go on.” She nudged her younger brother forward.

Thomas was only six, but already he was starting to resemble their father as he outgrew his baby fat. It was especially noticeable in the scowl that tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Sorry,” he muttered so quietly that they almost couldn’t hear.

Grecia crossed her arms over her chest and studied him for a long moment, in perfect imitation of the quiet thoughtfulness of her father. “You’re forgiven,” she said at last, though Nathaniel suspected that her mind was made up from the start.

“Supper’s almost ready,” Delilah told them. “Why don’t you wash up and head out to the dining hall?”

“Come on.” Grecia grabbed Thomas by the hand and led him out of the door. Their previous argument was entirely forgotten. Children, unlike adults, apparently didn’t linger on things that made them unhappy.

At least Nathaniel was finally spared further questions about the rebellion.

Delilah lingered behind, turning her curious gray eyes onto him. “You weren’t _really_ sharing war stories with a little girl, were you?” she questioned. “Don’t you think that’s a bit mature for someone her age?”

“You make it sound like I was teaching her how to effectively decapitate a man,” Nathaniel retorted. He didn’t care for the way she got on him as much as their parents did. She was four years younger than him; she didn’t need to parent him. “And they were just old stories about the rebellion. What harm could they possibly do?”

“Just you watch. She’ll start peppering the teyrn and teyrna with questions about the rebellion, and soon they’ll figure out that it started with _you_. And then what will they think?”

“Probably something along the lines of, ‘Oh, thank the Maker, now her tutor doesn’t have to explain this to her.’“

“Don’t try to be funny, brother. I’m serious.”

“You’re in a good mood today,” Nathaniel said pointedly.

Delilah sighed. She had always been rather fair-skinned, but today she was especially pale. “I’m sorry.” She leaned her head against his shoulder and briefly closed her eyes. “It’s been sort of frantic all morning. Father had me watching over Thomas and Grecia, and then Mother needed me, and when she finally let me go, I found Thomas and Grecia loudly arguing, and it’s just…been a very long day.”

Nathaniel wrapped an arm around her shoulders. He didn’t know what to say to her. It was supposed to be a friendly visit between families, but he’d noticed that she hadn’t had much time to relax. He felt slightly guilty for hiding away in the trophy room. “How is Mother?”

“Mother is…” Delilah paused. “Fine.”

_Fine_ didn’t mean _fine_ in the Howe family. _Fine_ meant that tempers had cooled enough that nothing was being thrown at the walls anymore. _Fine_ meant that a truce had been temporarily brokered in the war that was their family history.

“How are Oriana and Fergus doing?” Delilah asked. “Have you seen the baby yet?”

“I was actually thinking of checking on them before the meal got underway. And _you_ are coming with me, dear sister. I’m sure Oriana would love to see you,” Nathaniel said as he steered her out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nathaniel's family history doesn't quite add up. He says in _Awakening_ that Padric Howe was his grandfather, who left the family to join the Grey Wardens. But his actual grandfather was Tarleton Howe, who sided with the Orlesians during the occupation and was eventually hanged. So Padric is now *gestures vaguely* a great-uncle, because I don't know how else to reconcile that discrepancy. And I'm guessing on Delilah's and Thomas's ages, as only Nathaniel's has been confirmed (he was confirmed thirty in 9:31, so he's nineteen here).
> 
> Also, of _course_ Rendon Howe is the sort of man that would make his only daughter parent his other two sons.


End file.
